Monthly
by Golden Snowflake
Summary: A little odd or not, the Smiths paying to housesit while they're gone is nothing less than perfect timing. Except for the fact that Mother Nature doesn't care whose life she's ruining. Oh, and neither does Rick. (Narrator/Rick oneshot; contains adult language and detailed anatomical descriptions.)


Well. The, uh, whole "repressing my attraction to self-centered geriatric geniuses" thing seems to have failed.

One thing I absolutely have to mention - _the second half of this fic is on Archive of Our Own_. I didn't include it here because it exceeds the M rating and I don't want to risk anyone reading it who shouldn't, and also because I don't want to risk my good standing here.

My pen name there is also GoldenSnowflake and the story title is the same there.

To those of you following _Fire Eyes_ and _Minute by Minute_ , I promise you they aren't discontinued. I'll be continuing _Minute by Minute_ soon, and I fully intend to complete _Fire Eyes_ in the future when I have enough time and the inspiration to do the story justice.

This fic contains an original character (narrator/Rick), detailed descriptions of menstrual cycles, a considerable age difference, and adult language. If any of this is too much for you, I won't be offended. :)

Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!

* * *

 **Monthly**

 _by Golden Snowflake_

xxx

At eleven, I dragged myself out of bed, groaning loudly in announcement as I slumped against the wall beside me.

 _Shit_.

No matter how many times I muddled through them, my periods always seemed to find new, insidious ways to make themselves exhausting and inconvenient. I lurched toward the bathroom as my stomach gave an agonizing clench, scrambling for the toilet. Another spasm rolled from my thighs through my gut, fizzling out in a deep ache low in my spine as I sat down, wrapped my arms around myself and squeezed my eyes shut.

It was the third day of my housesitting stint for my considerably eccentric neighbors. Beth, the pretty, soft-spoken wife and mother had stopped me to say hello several times when she caught me on my morning walks. When she mentioned on one chilly morning that she was on her way to work at the equine hospital just off the highway, I knew immediately why she had come off as such a kind soul the first time we had spoken. We talked at length about pets and the lengths their owners go to in order to keep them healthy and happy, and she mentioned her daughter in passing. "I'm sure Summer would be amazed by you," she told me earnestly. It was a huge compliment, but I got the sense that she hoped that I could befriend her daughter and become something of a mentor to her. I had seen Summer out – willowy, self-assured. Exactly the kind of girl I would've been intimidated by and embarrassed to be compared to by proximity back in high school. I'd cautiously steered conversation elsewhere and Beth had graciously chosen not to bring it up again.

When I explained one day that I was in a sort of antsy, free-floating state while the college I worked at was closed for break before the fall semester, her eyes lit up and she told me that they had been looking for someone to stay at their house while they went on a family vacation. ("Our marriage counselor suggested that we all get out of our routine and try to get reacquainted in a new environment," she whispered with a skeptical smile.) My "I'd love to!" was so loud that the morning ambience of crickets and birds came to a sudden halt.

If my core temperature wasn't already spiking toward outrageous levels, the memory would've made my face heat up with embarrassment. I stood carefully, kicked my clothing into a pile in front of the sink, and turned the fan on before slumping into the shower stall. I turned the knob just enough for the water that rained down on me to be lukewarm and then allowed myself a loud, indulgent sigh.

Beth texted me a few days before the Smiths planned to leave, asking me when I could come over for her to go over things with me. Trying not to sound as bored as I was, I fibbed and replied that I was busy until evening. She ended her message stating that I could come over at around six with a smiley face that was so heartfelt that I grinned when I read it.

"Hi! Thank you so much for coming," she had said, and I realized from the sudden silence that fell over the house that we had an audience. What sounded like the faint droning of a newscaster from another room had even stopped. The nervousness that had somehow stayed dormant until then unfurled in my stomach, and I forced myself to return her smile, giving the sincerest "Honestly, it's my pleasure" that I could muster. She introduced me first to her husband, Jerry, and he gave an uncomfortably loud laugh and looked between the two of us with a barely-concealed fear as if he was trying to figure out at that second if his wife was having an affair with the neighbor girl half her age. "Oh, right! Hiii," he sputtered.

It was becoming apparent that the Smiths were a bit stranger than I had assumed.

"Summer, this is the girl I mentioned who's going to be housesitting while we're away." Beth crossed her arms pensively after leading me into the pretty, sun-bathed dining room. Summer glanced up from her phone, genuine interest flitting momentarily through her eyes. She offered an "Oh. Hi" before resuming the superhuman movements of her fingers across the screen. My skin had tingled with unease, and I glanced at Beth to find her face graver than I'd seen it before.

We had heard footsteps echoing from upstairs and a smaller, higher version of Jerry's voice through the doorway. I'd watched Summer to find no change in her expression whatsoever. Beth called her son into the room, introducing me as the exalted future-house sitter and him as Morty, who was considerably more impressed with me than Summer was. "Oh! Uh, oh, wow. H-hey! Wow." It was both flattering and bizarre to watch his body temperature rise astronomically as his mom stood directly beside me. Beth smiled and Morty stared and I cleared my throat and twined my fingers together in front of me awkwardly. This had gone on for a good ten seconds as Beth waited for Morty to initiate some sort of socially acceptable conversation (and began to radiate palpable dismay when he didn't.)

I had been equal parts grateful and horrified when the silence was interrupted by an ear-splitting belch and the sound of the muted TV being turned back up in the adjacent room. Apparently the horrifying embarrassment had ceased to be interesting to whoever was left. I looked at Beth then, and I watched an incredible wash of emotions cross her features: shame, anger, horror, then resignation and finally conviction.

An inexplicable shard of dread had appeared in my stomach when she said, "I'm so sorry – how could I forget? Let me introduce you to my dad."

Leaning forward, I let the water cascade over my head and trickle off of my lips and the tip of my nose. _So tired_. The film of shampoo swirled and bubbled hypnotically between my feet on its journey toward the drain. A bead of red joined it, blossoming and turning the tiles below me a gruesome rusty orange. Another wave of clenching pain rose through my thighs and into my stomach and I grimaced and squeezed my eyes shut.

In a strange way, the whole thing felt almost _good:_ being tossed to and fro by the currents of something far more powerful than me; being overtaken by deep, almost cleansing pain one minute and overwhelming arousal the next. It feels visceral and primal somehow.

But _Christ_ does it hurt.

As the cramp subsided, I grabbed my conditioner and squatted down, face aimed away from the showerhead. My eyes focused and unfocused on the bits of glitter in my toenail polish as my limbs sagged with fatigue. _You can do this,_ I reminded myself. _Finish up, get dressed, and then comes ibuprofen and the coffee._

I hummed sleepily and popped open the cap on the conditioner.

Beth had then led me through the wide archway into the living room. Their TV was a big one and the décor was simple but homey, just as the rest of the house had been. The man sprawled on the couch didn't acknowledge us as we entered.

Not waiting for the greeting that clearly wasn't to come, she spoke over the drone of the uninteresting-looking talk show on television, introducing me by name. "She'll be watching the house while we're gone," she explained pleasantly. She offered me a smile, which I was grateful for. The reception I'd gotten so far from her family had been _profoundly_ uncomfortable. She gestured to the spiky-haired man in a blue sweater and a lab coat and the lightness of her voice was ever-so-slightly strained. "This is my dad, Rick."

Long limbs draped across the back of the sofa and the coffee table, Rick looked at me with the barest hint of interest. The emotion quickly faded and he sloshed the half-empty bottle of beer in his long fingers against the armrest of the couch. "She's cute," he assessed, turning back to the television. "Just make sure she stays the hell away from the garage."

Despite the prickle of anger I felt at his disregard, his rudeness sent a flood of relief through my veins. Boring someone was _far_ better than receiving their wide-eyed scrutiny.

" _Dad._ " Beth crossed her arms and her pretty face twisted into a frown before my eyes. "Can you _pretend_ to see people as more than their level of usefulness to you for – I don't know – two, three minutes?"

"Y-you know what I always say, honey," he replied with a gurgling burp, "honesty is the best policy."

There was a note of hysteria in Beth's voice as she continued on: "All right, let's get to the tour! I'll give you a house key and put a list of things you need to know on the fridge. I'll show you the upstairs first…"

Turning to sit so the water flooded down my face and my chest, I gathered my hair up and squeezed conditioner through it. The back end of a cramp rolled through my abdomen and into the muscles of my lower back. A horrifying chunk of tissue slid through the stream of water. Disgusted and fascinated, I watched it circle the drain, stop, and slip beneath the stopper. A wretched streak of blood followed it.

Shuddering, I returned to working the conditioner into my hair.

It was a good ten minutes after I shut off the water before I managed to struggle to my feet and step out of the shower. I scrambled for my bag of toiletries and dug out my sandwich bag of feminine items before doing anything else. For a long moment, I considered a tampon.

"I can't," I finally decided, shaking my head slowly at the flowery, perfume-scented wrapper. "It's too sore. I can't do it."

After un-wadding my clean fistful of clothing and drying my hair (having stopped the dryer three times when I overheated so much I started sweating,) I dug out a tube of mascara, leaned fully on the blessedly cool stone counter, and made a few sweeps through my lashes. No matter how awful I felt, I would die before risking contact with a delivery guy or a Jehovah's witness without looking semi-presentable. And finally – mercifully – it was time for coffee.

I was slumped against the doorframe of the dining room when I heard it.

A thump. A crash, then a deep grumbling sound.

I poked my head back into the hallway to find myself engaged in eye contact with Beth's father. The halted beginnings of fight-or-flight mode and the embarrassment that followed after superheated my body and sent my heartbeat slamming into my throat.

"Aw, Jesus," he growled, frowning. "You're here."

Irritation was creeping in beneath my shock. "What are – I thought you went with Beth on vacation!"

"And listen to Jerry fall flat on his face metaphorically every time he tries to communicate with another sentient being?" Rick glared at me as if this were a blatantly obvious deterrent. He blinked suddenly. "You didn't touch any of my shit in the garage, did you?"

Fueled by my hormonal imbalance and adrenaline, I felt my hackles rising. " _Oh,_ don't worry," I laughed, turning back toward the kitchen, "The dangerousness of my own incompetence isn't lost on me."

I managed to get through the dining room before another cramp began, tearing through my thighs, my glutes, and finally my gut with dizzying pain. A low groan escaped through my clenched teeth as I gripped my stomach and swayed on my feet.

"Oooh." When I spun around unsteadily, Rick was watching me, grimacing mockingly. "That bad?" At my expression, he rolled his eyes tiredly. "Oh, come on, now. Y-you can't – uuuurrp – you can't smell it on yourself?"

"I just _showered,_ " I snapped defensively.

"Not the – the blood and uterine lining and shit, your _hormones_." The color draining from my face (or turning it red, I might've been overheating so much it felt like chills) evidently irritated him further. "Your, your progesterone. Your estrogen. It _reeks_. You smell like a fertility-scented air freshener or something."

"You can't consciously smell hormones," I found myself arguing, my voice grinding lower as my stomach gave another disgusting lurch and an unwelcome curl of arousal trailed through my abdomen and up my thighs.

"Ye-yeah, not with a, a single digit IQ, you can't." I was already at the kitchen sink, twisting the cap off the bottle of pain medication. I glanced at the directions on the side of the bottle – _if one pill does not alleviate pain, two can be taken at second dosage_ – and took three with a glass of room-temperature water. The prickling of the hairs at the back of my neck told me that he was still there. "You – y'know, in some places, as soon as a girl gets her first period, they stick a tube – a little vacuum hose up there, and suck all the eggs out."

"Oh, wow. That's really something." I filled the coffee filter with fragrant grounds, pushing them up against the sides of the basket to keep the filter from folding inward and leaving me with a pot of flavorless, brownish water. "Where is that, some planet ruled by a militant feminist society where babies are grown in incubators and the boys are, like, slingshotted off into the wilderness at birth?"

"Actually, yeah. That's exactly it. How – how did you know that?"

I glanced at him incredulously to find him completely deadpan. Keeping my face neutral, I struggled to the cupboard to rifle through the box of assorted granola bars. Before I could grab one, the pain pills hit my empty stomach and it gave a wrathful twist. It took a moment to realize that my vision had gone dark and I was staring at the floor, doubled over with a hand gripping one of the shelves for balance.

"Y'know what you need?" He was closer now, leaning against the dining room table with his slender arms crossed. I grabbed two blueberry cinnamon bars, shutting the cupboard door and turning to meet his smug look as I tore one open. "A good dicking."

My arms fell to my sides.

It took a good couple of seconds to get the shock to stop closing off my throat. I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're not on the deed, are you? Can I call the cops and have them throw you on the street until I go home?"

He came closer as I fished through the cupboards for a coffee mug. "There's actually another planet where the male … like gender has a duty to have sex with the female-like gender when their periods start to ease the pain. They see it as the most important service they can perform for their society."

"Now _that_ one I don't believe at all." I fought to hold a straight face as I turned away from him to grab a spoon and the powdered creamer. He was standing at the counter now, arms still crossed and watching me avidly.

"There's an infinite number of universes. It's a reality somewhere."

Another twist of heat climbed between my thighs and low in my stomach and made my anger spike. "What's your name again?" I looked up at him, leaning on the counter in front of the coffee maker conversationally. "Dick, was it?"

His long arms finally untangled from their place against his chest to gesture at me. "See, you m-meant that – _eeeuugh_ – as an insult, but that could just as easily be – have been a compliment, and you could've been implying that my dick was the most memorable thing about me, and that would be why you remembered it as my name."

"You smell like cheap vodka."

"You smell like disgustingly fruitful ovaries."

Unable to think of anything else to do beneath the crashing waves of heat, pain, and horniness, I bit off the end of one of the granola bars without breaking eye contact. The coffee pot burbled and sputtered as he frowned at me with intensity. When the machine beeped and I shook off being scared half to death by it to pour myself a cup, Rick took out what looked like a flask from the corner of my vision and took a long swig. I determinedly did not watch the cords in his slender neck as he swallowed.

A noisy burble in my abdomen was all the warning I had before another blinding cramp knotted up my insides and superheated my stomach. I stirred the powdered creamer in and shoved the rest of the granola bar into my mouth, willing myself not to break into a sweat as the ache rolled through my spine. Glancing at the fridge, I verified what I had vaguely remembered to be written in Beth's neat half-cursive, half-print. _Feel free to turn AC down as much as you'd like! C:_

Swallowing thickly, I grabbed my coffee and made a beeline for the thermostat. The down-button was rubbery and clicked pleasantly when I jammed it with my finger until the digital readout was at 60. "Perfect," I gritted. The muffled clunks and the following muted roar of the air conditioning flooded my veins with relief as I shuffled toward the living room.

I took a huge slurp of coffee, reveling in the familiar comfort of the woody flavor and its warmth down my throat. _Sweet, hope-filled relief._

The edge of the cup was pressed against my lips for another when the continuous, overpowering ache culminated in the horrifying sensation of matter shifting low inside me and slipping out. "God dammit – ouch ow ow ow ohhhh holy God _ouch_."

It had only happened a handful of times in the past. A sudden, sharp stab like my tissue had torn clean off of my insides; the sickening sensation of rawness rubbing against the walls around it. I silently cursed the ibuprofen for not magically working faster as I scooted my mug onto a side table and leaned against the back of the sofa. The muscles of my inner thighs jumped and the base of my spine burned dazzlingly. My own strained voice muttering _get me one of those God damn vacuum cleaners_ drifted through the cloud of pain and fatigue.

After a few seconds, I gave up on the idea of standing up under my own power any time soon, my upper half resting heavily on the couch as my arms wrapped reflexively around my ribcage.

"You've really never had sex during your 'time of the month'?"

Rick's voice startlingly close wasn't enough to make me jump, but I whined through my teeth, partially in dismay that he still existed and partially in a mindless response. My heart thumped dizzyingly in my ears and my back seized in protest.

"Tons of women have told me that it's awesome. An orgasm is like the mother of all cramps, but it's _way_ worse and builds up slower."

" _Really not selling it,_ " I grated.

"But it's good. It's biological fact that it eases the discomfort, not to mention it's super gross and gory."

"I'm going – to go curl up under a piece of furniture – _ngh_ – and pray that my uterus falls out now." The world was moving around me, shifting around through my spotted vision as I dragged my body in the direction of the guest room. "And isn't that supposed to _augh_ disgust people?"

"Kill a couple alternate versions of yourself with your bare hands. You'll get over your infantile aversion to mammalian reproductive cycles." Rick was following me. My innards pulsed with a frighteningly strong flare of desire. "And what – urrrph – what happened to 'I just showered'?"

Determined to ignore him, Beth's _father_ , and his sharp eyes and his slim frame and long, long limbs, I groaned and fought with all my might to raise to my full height once more. Arousal was pounding through me now, climbing with my anger. The all-encompassing aches were pulsing with a wicked, dark undertone, and I hissed sharply when the fabric of my shirt shifted and I realized that, somewhere along the line, my nipples had become painfully hard. I just needed to lay down for a while. Maybe sleep for a few hours. I didn't have to water the flowers today, and the garbage didn't go until tomorrow-

Before I could drag myself to my room there were hands on my arms and I was slammed against the hallway wall.

I grudgingly met his eyes.

 _Jesus_ he was tall. He stared at me skeptically, long fingers squeezing my shoulders. I fought to look bored as my knees threatened to give out beneath me.

"I'm … I'm tellin' ya. It'll be mind-blowing."

When I swallowed and opened my mouth to reply a horrifying little moan escaped.

 _How the hell are you losing control like this?_

 _Beth has to be in her thirties and you're supposed to be watching her house AND THIS IS HER FATHER._

Rick's eyes darted downward and returned to my own with a smirk. It hit me like a train: I must have been a pathetic sight. Panting, face flushed, nipples straining through my shirt, legs trembling - I wasn't fooling him in the slightest. I swallowed thickly and finally let myself admire his handsome face.

 _This is happening_.

"What – what am I?" My voice was barely audible above the pounding of my heartbeat. "A third of your age?"

He stared at me hungrily. Fuck, I liked him looking at me like that. "Probably."

Trembling and fighting to speak, I let my eyes flutter shut. Rick was suddenly pulling me away from the wall, manhandling me and pushing me toward the alcove under the stairs, fist in the front of my shirt as he forced me backward and kicked open the door I'd assumed was a storage closet. Clinging onto his arms for stability, my eyes darted around to see a mess of maps, mugshots and papers covering the mildew-stained walls. The firm grip turned outward and he shoved me down so hard I didn't have time to think. The angry scream of brittle springs punched me in my shoulders and my hips in the uncanny way that only a shitty cot could manage. When my eyes opened, my knuckles were white on Rick's sleeves and his eyes were wild as he leaned over me. A shudder wracked my frame at his slim body hovering over my own.

After a heart-stopping moment of Rick impassively observing every little betrayal of what a mess I was, he made a determined sound low in his throat and shrugged off his lab coat. When I let go of it my hands came away shaking. He shoved my legs apart with one of his own, shedding his sweater in the same movement. I was transfixed by the way his wild strands of hair sprang back into gravity-defying shape when he shrugged the shirt off; by the way his skinny, wiry body flexed as he rolled his shoulders and leaned back over me. He pushed his other leg between mine, nudging them apart. Self-consciousness and blinding arousal superheated my skin as I shuddered against the frayed blankets.

"Mmmm." Rick's long fingers traced my hipbones where my shorts had slipped down, sliding my shirt up to my collarbone. "Nice."

Goosebumps exploded across my skin when his fingertips skirted back down, barely making contact as he traced the painfully sensitive undersides of my breasts and counted my ribs. A faint sound escaped me at the heady clench of pain my insides gave in response. My hands closed over his wrists before I could stop them and my desperation to look at him overwhelmed any shame I had left. He hesitated where his fingers hovered over my abdomen, the faintest hint of surprise flitting across his face as I panted helplessly. The look that replaced it was darker than before.

Rick pushed my thighs further apart and pressed a palm to the space beside my head before leaning down over me, not letting go of my gaze the entire time. The thick, heady smell of alcohol on his breath only spilled into my lungs for a moment before he buried his face between my breasts and let out a low, indulgent hum. His fingers skimmed the aching, electrified skin of my breast again. When he deftly tweaked one of my painfully hard nipples my eyes rolled back into my head. "Aaah – oh _God._ "

The warmth of his mouth covering the other one made me squeak and my legs futilely squeeze together on either side of his. He watched me through his eyelashes, flicking the bundle of nerves in slow, steady movements, every swipe of his tongue sending blinding streaks of lightning straight to my clit. My nails dug into his shoulder blades as more fluid slipped from between my thighs. It occurred to me beneath the crashing waves of heat that I was now dripping something other than blood as I gasped and squirmed beneath him.

Releasing my nipples despite my pleading whine, he took my hands from where they were clawing into his back and moved them to his pants. With my pitifully shaking fingers I began to undo the button. Rick had my shorts and panties off before I could get to his zipper.

"Your – wh-what about your blankets?" My words came out in a breathless rush as the freezing air hit my embarrassingly slick sex. He shoved my hands out of the way, shoving his pants down over the bulge straining against the fabric.

"I don't give a shit," he growled, pulling out his dick.

Oh dear _God_.

Squeezing my eyes shut and turning my head away in horror, I found the blankets and dug my nails into them. "What?" he asked innocently.

"Shut up Jesus _Christ_ I hate you."

Before looking back up at him I could sense the smirk on his face. This was a _horrible_ idea.

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 **The rest of this fic is posted on Ao3 (go to archive-of-our-own-.-com). I didn't include it here because it surpasses the criteria for the M rating. The title there is the same and my name there is GoldenSnowflake.**

 **Please use discretion in reading the full version. By this site's standards, its rating would be MA. (there's peepees lul)**

 **If you can't find me or the story, message me and let me know! :3**


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